Blind date party
by ChildOfTheMoon86
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and France, with the help of Italy, is determined for everyone to share in a little bit of love, even if it's just for one night. Total random silliness. Crack ships galore.


****Blind Date Party****

 ** **Authors notes:**** Enjoy the silliness.

Please review.

* * *

In a hall in the 28th floor of a business centre in the heart of Italy, a certain group of people have gathered for a bimonthly meeting.

This group appeared quite peculiar to all the business men and women who work there. Partly because they were all dressed differently —the suits they wore all differed in styles and levels of sophistication— partly because they all seemed to be speaking every language under the sun, but mostly because of the loud fighting that could be heard through the walls every 15 minutes without fail.

However to those inside the room, this was as normal as things come.

* * *

England sighed as he stopped the stopwatch on his phone, scribbling the time down on his notes.

He's really not sure anymore why they all even bother with these meetings. It's not like they ever actually accomplish anything.

The day had started so well too, with talk focused on the current games of the Winter Olympics. But, as is to be expected, the nations grew competitive, and that ultimately devolved into arguments and the topic was abandoned. After that, they had tried to talk about current EU trade deals, Brexit —which continues to be nothing but a massive headache for him—, the continued unrest in the Middle East —predictably a touchy subject as always—, and of course, the current 'issue of discussion', the global economy.

Though, 'discussion', is a __generous__ term for what's going on.

As the shouting match of the other nations increases in volume with demands for money owed to be repaid, England looks over his notes.

Down the margins of his papers on the imports and use of steel from China, is a list of scribbled times. As is predictable of any meeting between them, fights occur often, so, bored, he had taken to timing the intervals between them.

12 minutes and 42 seconds for China to start demanding America pay him back.

Not the longest interval— a whole 36 minutes and 18 seconds of blissful peace at the start thanks to the Olympics, a new record England thinks— but certainly up there. Still, checking the time on his phone as he rests the stopwatch, England sighs in relief. Just 8 more minutes until this madness can end and he can finally leave. He ran out of tea over and hour ago and he's dying for another cup right about now.

Exactly 8 minutes later, a buzzer goes off and Italy cheers, jumping up from his seat.

"Alright, that's all for today! Meeting over!"

The cheery call ends the din of the fighting, and a collective sigh rises up from them all.

' _ _Finally__.' England sighs, sorting his papers back into his briefcase.

"Hold on just a moment __mes amies!__ "

England doesn't know if he should cry or punch the annoying frog in the face for stopping him from just getting __out__ of here already.

As France stands and draws all attention to himself he smiles and England groans. He knows that look, and he __knows__ he's not going to like what's coming.

"As you know, today is February 13th, and tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Sooo, to celebrate, I and __Italie__ are hosting a party in Venice!"

"And why should we care frog? It's not like most of us engage in any sort of romantic relationship." England huffs, crossing his arms in his seat.

For a moment France frowns down at him, clearly not amused with the Englishman, before smiling again.

"True, but it's Valentine's Day, the day of __amour__ , of all kinds, romantic, platonic, accidental, whatever may be. And as the country of love, I cannot simply just let all of you stew in your loneliness," more than a few annoyed looks get directed at the Frenchman for that but he continues on regardless, "so it is my duty to save you all from such sadness and surround you all with love. Even if it's for just one night."

A series of grumbling rise up, but France simply waves them off.

"The party is at 8 and I expect you all to come. It's a masquerade ball, so be sure to dress the part!"

With that, the blonde man waves as he saunters out, Italy bounding out after him, rapidly talking about how fun the party is going to be, leaving the rest of them confused and not a little bit insulted.

For his part England just sighs and stands, heading out before anyone else decides to announce something pointless.

* * *

It's at six o'clock, an hour after the meeting ended that America receives a text.

Personally he thinks the party sounds like a great way to unwind after the usual fall out of the meeting. So when he sees the text from France, he happily opens it.

But what he finds is odd. Instead of words he receives a GPS location and a number.

He Google's the location, figuring it to be where the party is going to happen, since France had oddly left that part out.

But when he text France back about the random number, he doesn't receive an answer. So he spends the rest of the night in his hotel room puzzling over the number, before finally deciding he'll probably only get an answer by showing up to the party. Since he was planning on doing that anyway, he shrugs it off, making plans to go out to by a costume tomorrow.

What America doesn't realise though, is that he's not the only one to receive such a strange text.

* * *

As 8 o'clock approaches, France grins as he and Italy greet the arriving nations. Some try to be subtle about it, while others boldly walk up in groups, eager to start having fun.

As they come in, the hosts, not yet in costume, check the phones of the arrivals, pinning a large number to them that corresponds to the one they received, blue for Italy's and red for Frances'.

Both are pleased to see that everyone has showed up, either out of curiosity or simply for the chance to have some fun.

"Alright frog, mind explaining what this is all about?" England huffs as he shows the Frenchman his phone, the odd text lightning up the screen.

"You shall find out soon enough __mon cher__." He grins, pinning a red 14 to the lapel of the blonde nations black suit.

* * *

At 8:45pm, with everyone now present France deems it time to reveal the true nature of this gathering.

Climbing up onto the band stage, he calls out to the masses, " _ _Bonjour et bienvenue, mes amis.__ Thank you all for coming." He waits for the general chatter to quiet before continuing, "As you no doubt have realised by now, you have all been given a coloured number. This number is your date number! You and your mystery date share the same number, but this is not just a date night oh, no. This is also a contest! Once you find your date, you must try to figure out who they are without revealing yourself. If you are found out, then you must unmask yourself. The last one masked is the winner. So, go! Find your date for the night and have fun."

Grinning, he hops down off the stage and heads into the bathroom to change into his costume, after all, he has a date too. Italy and he had assigned everyone a number then split them between them, so not even __they__ know who is paired with who.

* * *

After France made is announcement, there was a shocked hush, before slowly everyone started moving about, quiet murmurs turning back into loud chatter as more and more of them started searching. With over two hundred of them in the large ball room to search, the hunt was on to find their dates, and unmask them before they were.

After all, nothing motivates them better than a game of friendly competition. Date night? Some may enjoy the novelty of it, but everyone gathered knows it's the contest that's really motivating them.

With all this in mind, Canada wanders the outskirts of the room, on the look out for a red 62 to match his blue one. He spies them through a gap in the crowd and quickly makes a beeline for them before he loses sight of the mystery person. As he pushes his way through, he bites down his habitual need to apologise to anyone he accidentally shoves, knowing that doing so might give him away.

Reaching them, he taps their shoulder to get their attention. The person spins, clearly surprised as they look up through their light blue mask.

"Hello." Canada greets, raising his voice as loud as he dares, studying the stranger.

' _ _They're smaller than me, though most nations are, but their pretty short. And going by the outfit and body shape, I'm guessing it's a guy, but again that's not much help since most of us are male.__ '

The other blinks, before straightening, "Hello." They smile, offering their hand.

As they shake, Canada grips their hand tight, trying not to do anything that would give him away.

And it's obvious his date is too, as they are clearly masking their accent, not dropping their smile.

"Looks like your my date."

"Yup."

They both chuckle awkwardly.

Seems this is going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

Across the room, China is locked in a staring contest with his date. He knows he's not good at hiding his accent, so anything he says could end up giving him away. And his date too, seems to be of the same mind set, as they haven't said a word since they locked eyes through the crowd 3 minutes ago.

' _ _They're wearing a red dress, and their body shape is definitely female, but from this far it's still hard to tell who they are.__ '

He narrows his eyes behind his Snow White mask, trying to work out the others identity.

' _ _There are only a handful of female nations compared to male ones, so this shouldn't be so hard! She's not short, so that rules out kids like Wy and Liechtenstein, but she's wearing heels, so she could be shorter than she looks. And that brown hair doesn't look like it's fake, so she can't be one of the blondes like Belarus or Ukraine.'__

As he's busy studying them, his date suddenly smiles and starts to approach him. Once close enough they grin mischievously, "Hello China."

"Ah! How did you know?" The old nation sighs, removing his mask.

"I didn't."

Brown eyes widen as he realises he'd just given himself away.

"Aah, that was tricky of you."

They just smile, back to not saying anything.

"So, now I just have to figure out who __you__ are." It's then that he realises who this is, and he grins, "I should have realised it was you, Hungary."

"Aww, you figured me out." She laughs, removing her deep red mask. "Well that was fun while it lasted, but now I could use a drink."

"Same here."

The pair smile good naturedly as they head over to the buffet tables.

* * *

England sighs as he hangs back in a corner of the room, not in the least bit interested in this game.

' _ _Honestly, what else will that frog think of next? Date night? Please.__ '

His eyes scan the room, watching as pairs form and masks are removed.

' _ _Nothing will come of this.__ ' He thinks cynically, ' _ _What's the point? We're__ nations _ _, we can't__ have __lasting relationships, it's just not practical.__ He huffs, taking another drink of the free champagne, ' _ _This is pointless.__ '

Still, as he continues scanning the crowd he can see everyone has partnered up now.

Well, almost everyone.

He hasn't and, by proxy, neither has his supposed date.

So when he sees someone worriedly looking around in the middle of all the couples, he knows instantly that it's his date.

He thinks about just leaving them be, but, ultimately he sighs and pushes off the wall, making his way over to them.

"Hello, it's probably me your looking for." He sighs again as he reaches them, not bothering with masking his accent like everyone else who's still masked seems to be doing.

At the sound of his voice the stranger spins around to look up at him, and instantly he knows who this is. Even with out the obvious distressed look, or hearing her accented voice as she sighs in relief at finally being paired, her rather... distinguishable body shape is a dead give away.

"Miss Ukraine? I didn't realise I'd been paired with you."

If he had known the frog had paired him with one of the nicer nations he wouldn't have been skulking so much. And that aside, he now feels quite bad for worrying her and letting her feel left out.

Ukraine blinks up at him, tilting her head.

"Mr. England?" She questions slowly.

Removing his black mask, he gives the woman a gentle smile.

"Oh, right!" Remembering the rules, she hurries to remover her own silver one.

Being a gentleman, and to try to make up for leaving the poor woman —and not just so he can blend back into the crowd— England offers her a dance.

* * *

Several hours into the night and everyone is, much to their collective surprise, happily paired up and dancing to the bands music as it drifts about the hall.

It's as they're waltzing around the room, England has to begrudgingly change his mind on his original thought's of France's plan.

Normally this many of them in one room for any length of time would ultimately result in some sort of disaster. But, looking around, for once that's not the case.

Friends, family and rivals are all getting along. So well in fact, that no one seems to care who the last one unmasked was anymore.

As he leads Ukraine through the dance, he looks over the pairs around him.

China and Hungary are both dancing elegantly, Canada and Latvia are timidly but happily circling in the centre, and Italy and Hong Kong, Russia and Portugal, Wy and Germany, Bulgaria and Japan, France and Taiwan are all circling the room with a surprising level of synchronicity. By the buffet tables he can see America and Iceland, Denmark and Poland, Prussia and Kugelmugel and Moldova and Sealand all happily chatting and eating, though Kugelmugel seems more interested at staring at the fancy food than eating it.

When the night ends some time later, there isn't an ounce of animosity between any of them.

As England bids farewell to Ukraine, he pulls his phone out, making his way back to his hotel, and hits stop.

5 hours 46 minutes and 23 seconds.

A new record.


End file.
